Page 44 of Foster

When I finish my ramble, I’m so relieved, I have the unbearable urge to take a flourishing bow. Instead, I wait expectantly to see what Bowie Jane will say.

What words of wisdom will she impart?

How deep will her questions go?

Will I need to soothe feelings or manage emotions?

Whatever she gives me, I’m ready and I’ll deliver so she gets what she wants.

Bowie Jane lifts a shoulder in a half shrug, stabbing her fork into her pancakes. “I don’t care if you ask her out.”

She lifts the blueberry fluffiness to her mouth, shovels it in, and stares at me as she chews.

“That’s it?” I ask in disbelief. “You don’t care?”

She shakes her head, giving me a cute smile.

I put on an aggrieved expression. “But why don’t you care? You should care. Don’t you care about me?”

Bowie Jane snickers, her closed-mouth smile getting bigger as she continues to chew.

“Seriously,” I say, dropping my voice to measured calm. “I need to know how you feel about this. I don’t want to make a mistake where you’re concerned.”

Bowie Jane swallows, stabs another fork full of pancakes, but before she puts it in her mouth, she says, “I really like Mazzy, Dad. She’s not like Chet. So if you wanted to date her, that would be fine with me.”

A victorious flush of happiness wells within me and I want to fist bump, but then Bowie Jane brings me back down.

“But,” she says, her countenance solemnly grim, “Mazzy doesn’t date.”

“Wait. What?”

“I asked her why she doesn’t date Leo because he’s so handsome.” Dude isn’t that good-looking. “But she assured me he was just a friend. Then I asked her if she had a boyfriend, and she said she just doesn’t have time to date and it’s not big on her priority list.”

Huh.

Well, good to have affirmation that Leo is just a friend because in my opinion, he’s far too handsy with her. And also good she doesn’t have a boyfriend.

It’s a slight sticking point that she says she doesn’t have time, and it would be difficult trying to figure out when we could go out on a date between my game schedule, her job duties with Bowie Jane and her days off.

But I know we can manage it.

“I think I’ll still ask her.” I muse over the best way to approach it with Mazzy, absently picking up my fork and cutting into the pancakes.

“May the force be with you,” Bowie Jane quips.

“Nerd,” I reply affectionately. “Any advice for your pop?”

“Speak clearly and don’t mumble the way you did with me. And don’t keep going on and on. Just ask her simply.”

What a smartass. And I love her for it.

“Duly noted,” I drawl, winking. She winks back, but she’s never been able to master the one eye closing while the other stays open, so it’s just a hard blink, and we both laugh.

CHAPTER 17

Mazzy

The heft of the grocery bags strains against my arms as I push the door open to Foster’s kitchen from the garage entrance. It’s late Sunday afternoon, and the low sun streaming through the nook windows casts elongated shadows across the polished wooden floor. The house is quiet, save for the faint, muffled sounds that suggest Foster and Bowie Jane are somewhere upstairs. Foster’s truck, parked neatly in the garage, confirmed that they’re home.

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